


But is it True?

by icewine



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Study, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 16:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewine/pseuds/icewine
Summary: He can feel this happening, slowly but irreversibly; feel his soul darken, feel his insides become singed and slowly turn to ash, feel himself rotting from the inside out as he is pulled closer and closer to Sebastian’s core. And strangely, it isn’t so much that Ciel Phantomhive can’t fight his way out of their suffocatingly claustrophobic dyad; it’s that he doesn’t want to. He wanted and still wants Sebastian to have his soul. The question for him in the meantime, while he is still on this earth, while he is still a boy, still alive; while he is still Ciel Phantomhive, is whether he – his life - means anything to Sebastian beyond a next meal.





	But is it True?

**Author's Note:**

> We take a trip through Ciel’s mind as he tries to figure out what’s going on in Sebastian’s mind. 
> 
> Also, a big underage warning. This story is supposed to be pre-series, so Ciel is maybe 11-12. Long enough into the contract that Sebastian has fully gotten his (metaphorical) claws into him, but not so much that he’s hardened into the ruthless, unfeeling version we know from the series.

Sometimes Ciel Phantomhive wants to believe the lie. And Sebastian makes it easy. Ciel knows the truth of course, knows that Sebastian is a demon. He knows that it is a demon to whom he has contracted his soul; it is a demon with whom he shares quarters in his infinitely vast, labyrinthine mansion; it is a demon with whom he shares a bond stronger and more intimate than any he shares with any human; it is a _demon_ to whom he trusts his life and his deepest secrets. And that fact alone is uncanny enough on its surface that any deeper examination seems pointless and redundant. But how he _feels_ , how his bond with Sebastian _feels_ , is an entirely different matter.

Despite the factual truth of his nature, there has never seemed to be anything particularly demonic about his demon. Prior to their contract, Ciel’s understanding of demons and angels came primarily from the bible, the Book of Revelations, Milton, Medieval and Renaissance art, depicting demons as ugly, frightening, debased, _unseemly_ ; taunting the righteous while fangs and claws sunk into the flesh of those judged to be wicked. But Sebastian is beautiful, long-limbed and graceful. He smells of vanilla and cinnamon and freshly laundered linen. His skin feels like silk, his voice is like velvet, and his mouth tastes like bittersweet dark chocolate. He feels so soft lying next to Ciel at night, cooing and cradling him, enveloping him in his warmth.

The truth is that Sebastian has never behaved the way that Ciel imagined a demon would behave. The occasional taunting and teasing aside, he has performed his duties as his guardian and protector with the utmost care and devotion. Ciel has never questioned his loyalty, has never had reason to, and has trusted him completely. And strangely, beyond protecting his life, Sebastian has seemed invested in protecting Ciel’s best interests – softening his imperiousness and tempering his more self-destructive impulses, often saving him from himself, and grooming and breeding him into a fine nobleman worthy of his title. In the greatest ironies, Sebastian has sometimes emerged as the better angel of Ciel’s nature. He – along with the strength and power he brought - has also imbued Ciel’s station with legitimacy, added gravity to his somewhat grandiose self-regard, lent a motor force to his hunger for revenge, for dominance over the chess pieces in the game. And therein lies another truth – that Ciel Phanomhive would not exist without Sebastian Michaelis. That even if he had somehow escaped his hellish confinement on his own and come back to reclaim the Phantomhive earldom, his station and power, wealth and nobility would all quickly sink into oblivion if not buoyed by the strength that Sebastian brought. The House of Phantomhive would surely crumble were it not buttressed by the powers of Hell. Sebastian mostly indulges Ciel’s fantasy that he is the master player, the chief strategist behind the game, and that Sebastian is but one his pawns. But Ciel knows of course, is able to admit - to himself if not aloud - that this is a lie. Without Sebastian, he would be just a little boy, huddled in a cursed estate he had no way of ruling or protecting, hiding in the dark while the wolves gathered outside and clawed at the gates. Sebastian Michaelis is the prop holding up Ciel Phantomhive.

 

Ciel thinks about how well Sebastian fits into the deep fissures left behind in the wake of the calamity that visited him on his tenth birthday; how well he fills the void inside Ciel; how well their corrugated edges fit together, forming one uniform moving part. So well that sometimes - beyond wondering about the truth of Sebastian’s feelings, the inner workings of his mind, whatever lays masked behind butler facade - Ciel wonders about the truth of _Sebastian_ himself. He wonders if “Sebastian Michaelis” is indeed real, or if he is simply a projection of something inside Ciel, made manifest through the covenant; a sophisticated automaton fashioned out of oblivion, whose strings are being pulled by the true holder of Ciel’s contract somewhere in the depths of Hell. He wonders if “Sebastian” was created to coil around the infinite maze of Ciel’s wants and needs and desires, to fill the negative space around his sadness, his loneliness, his despair. If true, then would “Sebastian Michaelis” cease to exist, along with any ties he may or may not have had toward his master, the moment that Ciel Phantomhive did? This thought, this possibility, this potential truth, sits like a stone in Ciel’s stomach, slowly calcifies his insides.

 

So what is the truth in all of this? How can he parse out the truth from the lies, from the _Sebastian_ disguise – the demon aesthetic? Does Sebastian feel anything toward Ciel other than as one would towards one’s next meal? Or is it part of the contact – does having an attachment to one’s prey – or having the prey develop an attachment to its predator -  flavour the meal somehow – make it more delectable? Sebastian has certainly never lied or hidden his desire to  _collect_ _his payment_ once the terms of the contract have been fulfilled. He has in fact been remarkably, somewhat tediously, above-board about his intentions. His endless rhapsodic descriptions of the singular nature, the _flavour_ , the sumptuous _feast_ of Ciel’s soul, once consumed, would be enough to disabuse most anyone of the notion that there was anything akin to _selfless_ _love_ in Sebastian’s feelings towards his contractor.

 

But Ciel isn’t most anyone. He does not care a whit about the fate of his soul. He in fact feels that he has very little use for this world once he has obtained his revenge; or any use for living or life itself, for that matter, once his primary motor force of wrath and vengeance has been extinguished. And since he certainly has no illusions of reaching a benevolent afterlife, or – quite frankly – any interest in having his soul judged by the same God who saw fit to abandon him to those monsters so long ago, he is perfectly resigned – at peace, even – to his fate. He had made a choice and he does not regret it. It was of course a choice made under duress.  Any decision made by a frightened, abused and tortured child who had long reached - and gone beyond - their breaking point can hardly be considered as true _consent_. Time becomes constricted during moments of despair and suffering, seems to lose its linearity, shrinking itself around the present and shrouding the possibility that there is a _time_ beyond the _present_ and in the _future_ when there is no suffering or despair.  His choice had been about as free as those of prisoners of war who _choose_ to confess to whatever sins and transgressions their inquisitors demand in order to put an end to their torture and misery. Still, even years later, after time has dilated, after distance from those events has dulled some of their sharp edges, and some agency has returned to his life, he does not regret the decision he made. 

He thinks often about how his damnation was woven into the fabric of his fate, contained within his cursed name and doomed legacy, carved like an epitaph into his destiny before birth, the way that a star is destined to eventually collapse under the weight of its own immensity, unable to escape the clutches of its own gravitational pull. Such would have been his fate as a Phantomhive, had he not been pulled into Sebastian’s orbit. Now, having crossed the event horizon, all he can do is watch as he hurtles towards his own destruction, by Sebastian’s hands rather than God’s. He can feel this happening, slowly but irreversibly, feel his soul darken, feel his insides become singed and slowly turn to ash, feel himself rotting from the inside out as he is pulled closer and closer to Sebastian’s core. And strangely, it isn’t so much that Ciel can’t fight his way out of their suffocatingly claustrophobic dyad, it’s that he doesn’t want to. He _wanted_ and still _wants_ Sebastian to have his soul. The question for him in the meantime, while he is still on this earth, while he is still a boy, still alive; while he is still _Ciel Phantomhive_ , is whether he – his life - means anything to Sebastian beyond a next meal.

It is possible that Sebastian cares for him – truly cares. He is a demon, and that attachment could not be expected to conform to human standards. It is perhaps possible that he does in fact both care for Ciel, _loves_ him even, _and_ wants to end his life and consume his soul. Perhaps like paradox of Schrodinger’s cat - trapped in its own steel cage at the branching point of two realities, facing either suffocation or salvation - both seemingly contradictory possibilities can be simultaneously true. It is true that a human can _either_ love someone, _or_ wish to slay that person by their own hands. But perhaps for a demon, it possible to both love someone _and_ wish to bring them to an end and consume them upon their ultimate demise.

 

Ciel holds on to that possibility and tries to turn it into truth. Tries to look for things with which to bolster that argument, tries to sand down the edges of the pieces to make them fit the overall puzzle he is trying to solve about the demon. Like the way Sebastian holds him like something precious, the way Sebastian kisses him – softly and tenderly like he might break. The way he faces true danger, injury, and pain in order to protect him. The way he saves him - that first time, and again and again, more times than he can count, so that Ciel never has to feel fear again. And the way he gives his master pleasure without asking for any in return. And in those moments, Ciel could only feel gratitude for this – that his own body, which had betrayed him so often through its weakness and frailty, which was crippled and wracked with sickness throughout his childhood, and which was contorted in pain and agony throughout his imprisonment, could now bring him such previously unimagined pleasure. Nothing in his whole wretched life feels good except for Sebastian. And in those moments of near-climactic rapture, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he is leaving himself unguarded, a lamb wandering into the lion’s den. He doesn’t care that he might be a fool for allowing himself to believe the lie. He doesn’t care to understand _what_ this is or _why_ this is happening, whether it is _improper_ or _lewd_ or _unseemly_. He doesn’t care how twisted and pathetic it is to feel gratitude toward the very creature that would one day destroy and consume him. In these moments, all he cares about is how good this all _feels_ , and his gratitude brings tears to his eyes.

 

And so perhaps Sebastian likes living inside the lie too. Maybe they are two creatures that were destined to find each other, that their meeting was fated somehow. Maybe Ciel fills a void in Sebastian the way that Sebastian fills a void in him. Maybe that is why Sebastian has never revealed his true form to his master, has not allowed him to see the monster – ugly, fanged and clawed, _unseemly_ – that lives behind the beautiful mask. Perhaps he does not want to puncture the illusion, the lie they were both living in. There has to be some truth to all of this, some truth about Sebastian, something real in his connection with the demon, because the alternative – that the demon is simply by his side until he can collect his payment, or as a result of some _demon aesthetic_ Ciel does not care to understand, that Ciel _is_ in fact all alone, that his life has not meant anything to anyone – is intolerable. As much as he thinks himself toughened, unsentimental, accepting of cold hard facts and inured to the vagaries of human emotion and vulnerability, this is the one potential truth that he cannot abide. It is the one potential truth that makes the heart _he did not think he had_ clench and ache in his chest. He had read about prisoners in solitary confinement - murderers, hardened criminals - who slashed and choked themselves, broke bones and opened wounds throwing themselves against walls in attempts at self-injury, simply in order to end their isolation and force human contact. Humans were not meant to endure loneliness, and Ciel Phantomhive is both inescapably human and profoundly lonely.

****

He is writhing in his bed, tangled up in sheets, squirming and twisting while Sebastian’s mouth works to bring him to climax. He feels the intense waves of pleasure radiating out from his centre, seeping into every part of him, filling every chasm, mending every wound, anointing every festering boil. His slender legs are draped over Sebastian’s shoulders, his heels digging into Sebastian’s back as he arches his spine and bucks his hips upwards, moving in and out of Sebastian’s mouth in clumsy, fitful thrusts. All pride and dignity and control lost as both hands clutch fistfuls of Sebastian’s hair, his nails digging into the demon’s scalp, prepared to beg if Sebastian were to stop. But he never does. Not until his master has come undone, shattered and broken, dissolving into his waiting mouth. It never takes very long. Ciel hasn’t learned to control himself and his orgasms always come quickly and violently in a fierce crescendo burst, like stormy ocean waves crashing against a rocky shore.

 

Afterwards he lays in bed, spent, sated, curling his body against Sebastian’s for warmth. He is more unguarded during these times, as he lays near the liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, nestled in the crater left behind by his climax. Thoughts that were neatly pushed down to his depths now emerge like bodies floating to the river’s surface, washing up along the banks. He feels Sebastian’s fingers stroke and smooth his hair, brushing them away from his sweat-stained brow, while his other hand palms wide circles around his back. He hears Sebastian humming softly while his lips and cheek rub against the crown of his master’s head. He tries not to think about how much this reminds of him of nights past – it seems like another lifetime - when lightening and thunder and nightmares and fears of things that hide in the shadows would drive him to seek the warmth of his parent’s bed and the safety of his mother’s embrace.

 

He wants to know…

 

“Sebastian – why do you do this?” He ventures, his face nestled against his butler’s neck. He can smell the confectioner’s sugar and cocoa powder that Sebastian used to bake the Black Forest cake he had for dessert. “Touch me like this, I mean?”

 

He can feel Sebastian smiling in response. “I was under the impression that the young master enjoyed it. Would you prefer that I stop?” Sebastian murmurs with a gently teasing lilt to his voice.

 

In spite of himself, his own face breaks into an embarrassed half-smile that he is glad the demon can’t see. “I didn’t say that…I was simply curious. And you did not answer the question.”

 

“Young master, it is my duty as your butler to do what you ask of me.” Sebastian says, as he nuzzles the boy’s soft midnight blue hair.

 

“yes, but I did not _ask_ this of you, did I.”

 

“Fair point.” The butler concedes, placing a kiss on the top of the boy’s head. “But my role as a servant is to fulfill all of my master’s requests and desires, even the unstated ones.” Ciel sighs and absently rubs his cheek against the collar of Sebastian’s dress shirt. And then…

 

“I also do it because it pleases me. It pleases me to give pleasure to my master. It pleases me to touch you and taste you, my young lord.” Ciel _feels_ the rush of heat to his cheeks, _feels_ the catch of his breath in his chest, _feels_ the pounding of his heart. Under normal circumstances, in the daylight, the Earl of Phantomhive would be ashamed of his own weakness, of his own powerlessness against the tide of his emotions. But right now, in the dark, he just thinks about how nice it is to feel things…

 

“Is it normal?” He attempts again, trying to prod the demon.

 

“My lord, you have contracted your soul to a demon in exchange for vengeance. Nothing about this is ‘normal’.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

He doesn’t know what he hopes to achieve by this. He wants to know the truth. He could simply ask, he supposes. Order the demon to tell him. Why do you do this? Why do you do _any_ of this? Keep me safe, make me feel warm. Cook my meals, launder my clothes and perform one thousand menial tasks, teach me the _bloody violin_? Why do you tend to me with such care and tenderness when all you have to do to get what you want is simply ensure my vengeance? 

_I do it because I enjoy playing with my food…_

_I do it because you are a meal to be slowly simmered to perfection, and your growing attachment to me darkens your soul, seasons it, and flavours it with my essence…_

_I do it because it amuses me to watch you play out your childish revenge fantasies, labouring under delusions of power_ _you **do not** possess_ _, willfully blind to the fact that I am the sun in your universe, and all you have is the moon’s reflected glow …_

_I do it because it is a far greater affront to God to have one of His children turn away from Him and embrace his own damnation with ecstatic abandon rather than under coercion or duress…_

_I do it because I love you. Because your wretched life has meant something, and when it comes to an end, and having reached the crux of your petty vengeance has left you hollow, you will at least find solace in the knowledge that you have been loved…_

He knows the different possibilities – has played them out in his mind, worked them over, examined them, taken them apart and pieced them back together. He just wants to know which is true. Any of them – perhaps all of them? He wants an end to this thought experiment – which is the real universe, the one in which the cat is alive or the one in which it is dead? But he will not ask. Not because of the weakness and vulnerability that such an order would betray – well, not _simply_ because of that - but because he knows that such an order will not lead to the truth. The demon may be bound by contract to never tell a lie, but that does not mean that he will tell the truth. Sebastian is frustratingly, maddeningly skilled at obfuscation, at clouding the truth with lies.

So for now, he does nothing. In the night, surrounded by shadows and darkness, slowly being overcome by sleep, wrapped in the warm embrace of the devil, he riffles through the catalogue of potentials and settles upon the preferred truth. He nestles against it, pulls it over himself like a blanket. He reaches a hand up and runs his fingers through Sebastian’s soft, silky hair, shifts himself up so that he can press his brow lightly against the demon’s, and waits until Sebastian acts on the unspoken request to lean in and kiss him. Which he does, and Ciel can taste himself on the demon’s tongue. For now, this is enough. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Second attempt at fanfic. Feedback welcome!


End file.
